The Bird and The Dragon
The Political Murder: Part 2

The grounds of the governmental palace were guarded, but entering was an easy challenge for Kvenrei. He climbed over the fence behind the greenhouse and walked around until he found a maintenance building. He followed his nose to the distinctive smell of sewers. The room for the plumbers was set aside, probably for the odor but more likely because they were the pariah class of workers. The man took blue overalls, boots, a hood-like hat, and a plywood bag filled with tools he did not recognize.

Kvenrei hid the tools under a bench and packed his clothes in the bag. His plan had some gaps, but improvisation had always been his strength. A name list was attached to the wall. The overwritten names implied frequent changes in the workforce and Kvenrei hoped no one paid close attention to the people in the dirty clothes.

The lower corner of the list had the name H.Vaal and Kvenrei picked that one. Vaal was an ainadu name and H. was a general addition to serve the Southern custom of having two names. The ainadu were not particular if their given name was used as the first or surname and supplemented them with additional names or letters the way they liked. Kvenrei had picked ‘Byrd’ as his given name meant a type of bird in the previous world. The spelling mistake was his own, but he had grown to like it. Jonathan, he had added to the name in a flight of fancy.

Kvenrei was on his way toward the governmental building proper when the hallway filled with workers. The dinner break was at hand and people were hurrying to use their spare time. Outside Kvenrei noticed two men wearing similar overalls to the ones he had stolen. The pair was sitting on a turned wheelbarrow, smoking. Kvenrei avoided them following a woman with a bag of aromatic herbs and food stains on her apron.

“You cursed lazybags!” a tall man shouted in the middle of the yard. He had a white shirt and no hat and was quickly walking towards Kvenrei. “You have one break, and it starts half past, no earlier and one of you will always stay available. Your supervisor will hear about this. Name?”

“Vaal,” Kvenrei said.

“Whatever. The second rise in the southern wing. Do not make a mess and it better hold for at least a week.”

Kvenrei followed the tall man across the yard to a locked door and along a corridor where a guard was waiting.

“The southern wing,” the white shirt said in a bored voice and the guard nodded like this had happened too many times.

“Where will you start from?” the guard asked leading Kvenrei to the staircase.

“The second rise. Um, I am new here and the last time it was the first one. Do you know where this one is?”

“Now that you mention it has worked for almost a month straight. Did Rogerio say which floor?”

“Fourth.”

“Shit. Literally. Send the girls to clean when you are done, the gents there will surely complain.”

Kvenrei followed the guard up the servants’ stairs. The staircase was a recent addition to the renovated building and its walls displayed a range of paintings like they had been set up for storage and forgotten. The guard stopped and kicked a cupboard opening its door. Kvenrei picked a bucket with all kinds of equipment inside. He recognized a hose, but the long-handled spoon and sticks made his stomach churn. The smell didn’t help at all.

The staircase opened to a brightly illuminated hall that showed the original, old building and the later additions. Metal arches merged with the age-darkened wood and the decorated windows in a combination rumored to leak during the rain. The furniture whispered of age and minimal use and the portraits of the past ministers circled the walls with an occasional military face or an old sprinkled in-between.

Even a few pictures were dating before the end of the world: three-dimensional photos in breath-thin material. Their damage was badly fixed. The portraits in better condition were on display on the lower floors of the building.

The guard opened an apartment door. “Good luck, you will need it. Access to the common pipeline is in the staircase. Don’t make a mess.” The guard turned on his heels and left.

Kvenrei entered the room praising his luck. The apartment was empty, and he gave the guard a head start before returning the smelly bucket to the cupboard.

When back in the apartment Kvenrei closed the door. Probably he had lots of time. The minister’s schedule was unknown, but at some point, Mendes was bound to return to his room and visit his hygienic closet if he trusted it was in working order.

The apartment was spacey, and its furniture was matching. There was the statue of old Jotara guarding the windows against the radiation. The old was easy to recognize for the lacking ears and a thin circle surrounding his skull. These statues and the other signs of the olds were everywhere in Khem, spreading both protection and curses.

The idea of people born over three hundred years ago still walking Watergate was unpleasant to Kvenrei. He had witnessed the madness years forged for everyone including the dragons and turning to such people for protection seemed insane. But the portraits he had painted of olds had fetched good money and Kvenrei nodded to the statue in approval. The old had nothing to do with preventing murders and Kvenrei had no intention to spread radiation so the man considered he and Jotara would tolerate each other.

The closet was on the outer wall of the building, a dressing room given a new purpose. It had a window, a small table with a water jug, and a pile of small towels. They reminded Kvenrei of his home country. Such ways had been considered silly and unpleasant in the South earlier, but the habits spread and changed. Kvenrei put his bag by the window and took out the prepared matrix. Now he only needed to wait. Getting away after the murder would be a challenge and Kvenrei touched the window although it was out of the question for the death was supposed to look natural.

Kvenrei waited in the alert, but relaxed state he achieved only when writing the matrixes and anticipating violence. His mind was keen on the present, patiently waiting for his target to appear. Blood flowed over the matrixes in his bones, his subconscious preparing the nerves, the tendons, the muscle, and the bone ready. His consciousness felt only relaxed warmth.

A few hours later someone entered the main room. A male voice spoke, clothing rustled and there was the clink of platters put on the table. A few more words, a soft sound of the door closing, and then silence. Kvenrei was waiting. A few more moments passed until the closet door opened. A brunette man entered, his eyes fixed on the papers in his hands. He made no motion towards closing the door. Kvenrei wrapped his right hand around the man’s neck and filled his mouth with the thick fabric of his sleeve.

The minister fought, but it was already too late. Kvenrei pressed the matrix in the middle of the man’s chest and triggered it with a scrape of his nail. The man bit him through the sleeve, raised his hands, and dropped limply to the floor.

The dying minister looked younger and more handsome than Kvenrei had expected. Probably he had been one of the lucky ones with a genetic mechanism to stop aging. Now he would age no more. Kvenrei kneeled to ensure no signs of him were in the man’s mouth or under his nails. He left the body as it had fallen, took his bag, and stepped over the dead. The room had a dinner table set for two but the food was missing. Kvenrei walked straight to the door and listened but heard no sounds.

Soon he was on his way towards the hall. The staircase door opened before him, and a young man entered carrying a tray piled with food. Kvenrei stared at the floor like a lowly worker meeting a better-class servant and entered the stairs. The young man stopped and turned.

“You? What are you useless creature doing here?” he asked using the ainadu language.

Kvenrei glanced the man and recognized the features and the curly, dark brown hair. The look in the eyes had not changed, it was still decades older than the face and Kvenrei still had nightmares about what lived behind that gaze. It was Jenet. Not a random servant. Not Aldermei Veringe, but Jenet of Ardara, a memory come flesh.

“I am fixing the sewers,” Kvenrei muttered and retreated downstairs. Jenet put the tray on the floor.

“Somehow I doubt your change of career, my dear.”

Kvenrei ran for it. Jenet made a frustrated sound and followed. Kvenrei stopped thinking and panicked, he ran to the third-floor corridor and through the hall to a small terrace. The door was closed from the inside and for a few panic-filled heartbeats he pushed the wrong way. When the door opened, Kvenrei didn’t hesitate but took the two steps required to climb the rail surrounding the terrace, jumped, slipped, got a hold of a windowsill, and dropped to the ground still carrying his bag. Jenet followed, slower than Kvenrei who had gathered lots of exercise despite his questionable lifestyle.

Kvenrei hit the grass rolling, got to his feet, and stumbled into nothing that threw him on his face. Jenet had used his resonance although he could not do anything obvious. Anything resembling old Tarasten’s work was a sure way to get into the guards’ attention and resonance was among the top crimes. The unseen weight on the top of Kvenrei’s back pushed him down but he struggled to his feet, feeling the weight shift like he was too slippery for it. The man felt the matrixes in his bones sucking power.

There was a thump when Jenet connected the ground, but Kvenrei was already running. An agonized scream from upstairs cut the night.

“What you bastard have been up to…” Jenet cursed panting when Kvenrei sprinted in the maze between the outbuildings. He turned a corner and climbed the first roof. Three heartbeats later Jenet run below him. Kvenrei evened his breath and let the panic pass. He must get away.

Kvenrei dropped back to the ground. He planned to walk inside one of the buildings to get closer to the border wall. The carriage shed was located nicely and lighted only by the lamps outside. Kvenrei made it almost to the far end when he was hit to the knees from behind. He fell turning the movement into a rolling dodge, but someone was on him, the weight pushing the breath out of his lungs. Cold steel touched the side of his neck.

“Stop that futile struggle,” Jenet said pushing Kvenrei’s shoulders against the floor using only resonance.

“You said you were not after me.”

“I wasn’t, but you just caught my interest,” Jenet spoke without hurry, but he was panting.

“Well, here I am. What do you want?” Kvenrei relaxed to conserve his energy. He needed a distraction to survive, the memory had been a difficult challenge when inhabiting a child’s body and now that body had grown an adult.

“What were you doing in the palace? Your kind has no business there.”

“A murder ordered by the dragon. Don’t tell anyone.” A smirk found its way to Kvenrei’s lips. He was a governmental agent after all. S~ᴇaʀᴄh the FɪndNøvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“Agiisha wanted it?” Jenet seemed to consider the words.

“I work for Commander Anhava in internal security. I don’t question my orders.”

“The dragons don’t fight each other.” The blade disappeared from Kvenrei’s neck and Jenet stood up. He was a bit taller than Kvenrei.

“Remember I was not here,” Kvenrei said, still smiling.

“I work for the dragons, and their ways are shrouded,” Jenet proclaimed. “Get out of here, amateur, and don’t meddle in my affairs.”

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