The city of Mesina was the capital of sector 8,201 and one of the outlying provinces of Arinna’s territory. Like most border cities in the goddess’ domain, it had a heavily armed presence and was a more military base than a civilian town.

Yet, given the lives and homes lost to the war in the sector, Mesina also had a sizable homeless population, and the ‘slums’ constituted nearly a third of the city.

Slums, I  thought, almost spitting the word in my anger. It was another hated epithet and one that did little to describe the misery and squalor of the city blocks so named. People here barely had two coins to rub together, and nearly everyone had lost a loved one to the war. The common people—the proles—had fought and died for Arinna, and what did we get in return?

Nothing.

The goddess and her followers cared little for the slums and, for the most part, allowed the gangs to rule over us with impunity. Still, it was not unheard of for the occasional watchman or city patrol to enter the region, and when they did, the gangs knew better than to interfere in their business.

The retaliation of the sworn would be swift and sure if that happened.

This state of affairs was the entire reason for Alon’s costume. Although calling it that was perhaps inaccurate. Young as he was, Alon was nearly a soldier and easily looked the part of a city watchman.

Alon and I made our way north through the slums, together but apart. He strode boldly through the middle of the streets while I lurked in the shadows.

The first part of our journey—through Raccoon territory where our homes were located—was safe enough. Many residents recognized Alon on sight and exchanged polite greetings with him. Only a few spotted me, and those who did quickly looked away. My black garb loudly signaled my intention to go unnoticed, and in the slums, none but fools involved themselves in business that wasn’t theirs.

Matters changed when we crossed out of the Raccoon’s territory. The friendly hails from passersby stopped. Indeed, most people barely dared to look at Alon, and although there was no discernable change to his gait, I sensed the sudden tension in my friend’s shoulders.  I, myself, stepped softer, and my head whipped back and forth, constantly scanning the surroundings.

We had entered Devil territory.

The Raccoons were a comparatively weak gang and, over the years, had been steadily losing ground to their more powerful northern neighbors. It was a point that had sorely concerned me, Alon, and Soren, and we’d often spoken of moving further away yet had never gotten around to it. But despite our heightened tension, no one accosted Alon or me as we made our way deeper into the Devil-controlled city blocks.

Our destination was the gang’s headquarters. It lay in the very center of their territory. The Devils controlled the largest stretch of slums—almost the entire eastern half of the city—and they had their fingers in all manner of criminal enterprises, from prostitution and racketeering to extortion and assassinations.

Every building in their territory either belonged to them or someone who paid them protection money, and ordinarily, any one of a hundred locations would’ve served as a safe haven for their contraband.

But this was no ordinary situation.

This time, the gang had stolen Game-crafted goods,  and not even the Devils would expect their cowered slum residents to keep such a secret. Which meant there was only one location where the Devil ganglord would’ve dared to store his loot: the black sewers.

The black sewers were an ancient and now disused sewage system that spanned multiple city blocks. It served as the Devils’ primary base of operations and main warehouse. Only proven gang members were ever allowed inside.

More worrying still, the black sewers was a closed-off system that ran deep underground beneath the newer sewers and had only a few entry points. All of which, of course, were heavily guarded.

It was what made Alon’s disguise so crucial. While Alon showing his face in Devil territory was a risk, his uniform would afford him a measure of protection—only time would tell if it was enough. But the truth was, we’d no choice. It was only through subterfuge that we could gain access to the Devils’ lair.

Finally, our nerve-racking journey came to an end, and we reached the entrance to the gang’s headquarters. Stopping in the shadow of a nearby building, I crouched down and watched as Alon marched up to the nearly two dozen figures loitering before the gates leading down into the sewers.

All twenty-four thugs proudly displayed a dancing red imp tattoo on their upper arms. It was what marked them as Devil enforcers.

One of the slouching figures rose to his feet at Alon’s approach. The more elaborate design of his own tattoo marked him as one of the gang’s lieutenants. “Officer,” the thug said lazily, “what can I do for you this fine evening?” From his tone, I took it that neither he nor his fellows had recognized Alon.

Alon drew to a halt in front of the smaller man. “Open the door,” he grunted.

The lieutenant crossed his arms in front of his broad chest. “Now you know I can’t do that.”

Alon said nothing for a moment while he sized up the other man. “What’s your name, boy?”

The smile vanished from the lieutenant’s face. He was at least ten years older than Alon, and my friend had no business calling him ‘boy.’

“Who in blazes do you think you are?” the Devil demanded. “You may be an officer of the Watch, but this is no two-bit gang you’re interfering with. Push me, and no one will hear from you again. You hear me, boy?”

I tensed. Careful, Alon. I knew this was all part of the plan, but my friend had already upped the ante more than I’d expected, and the conversation had barely begun!

The Devils were always unpredictable. And proud. They did not take insults lightly—even from the Watch.

“Are you threatening me?” Alon asked, his gaze sliding past the lieutenant to the other thugs who had risen to their feet and slipped hands closer to their weapons.

“Yes,” the lieutenant sneered. He made a show of studying the empty streets. “I don’t see your squad. You’re alone, aren’t you?” He snapped his fingers. “I could disappear you like that, and no one would be the wiser.”

Alon did not react to the threat. “If you did that, come morning, your gang will be scattered, its warehouses emptied, and your enforcer dead. You want that?”

“Don’t play me for a fool, watchman,” the lieutenant said. “No one will raise a fuss over a single dead officer.” He paused dramatically. “Not if his body is never found.”

The thugs behind the lieutenant all snickered, amused by his performance.

Alon laughed too.

“I’m not talking about my death, Devil,” he said when his false mirth subsided. “I’m talking about what will happen tomorrow if your ganglord doesn’t get my information.”

The lieutenant’s eyes narrowed. “You’re here to see the boss?”

Alon nodded.

“To sell information?”

“Yes,” Alon said, his tone clipped. “Now stop wasting my time and open the damn door.”

“Whatever information you have, you can give to me,” the Devil said, not budging. “I’ll make it worth—”

Alon threw back his head and laughed with what, by all appearance, seemed like genuine humor this time. “Now, who is playing who for a fool? There’s no way I’ll tell some lowly thug what I know and let him take the credit.”

The Devil scowled. “I’m a lieutenant,” he said, biting off each word.

Alon waved his hand airily. “Whatever. The information I carry is too valuable to share with an underling, no matter how highly placed. I won’t share it with any but the ganglord, and even then, only after I’ve been paid.”

The lieutenant glared at Alon, trying to take his measure, but my friend remained admirably impassive under his scrutiny.

Realizing Alon was not going to give anything away, the lieutenant spat in disgust and called over his shoulder, “Open the bloody gates!”

Hastening to comply, four burly thugs grabbed the handles of the heavy wrought iron doors and pushed hard against them.

The black iron doors were heavy and cumbersome and would have done any castle proud. They creaked open with torturous slowness under the lieutenant’s impatient gaze. When the crack between them had widened sufficiently, the lieutenant waved Alon forward. “Let’s go.”

Alon took a step back. “I’m not going in there.”

The lieutenant blinked, and I grinned at his surprised expression. This, too, was part of the plan. Getting the sewer gates open had been the trickiest bit, but now that they were open, there was no way Alon was going to enter and place himself at the gang’s mercy.

“Why not,” the Devil demanded.

Alon shrugged. “After your threats, I would be foolish to go in there.”

“I thought you said you urgently needed to see the boss,” the lieutenant said between gritted teeth.

Alon shrugged. “I do. Tell him to come out here.”

The Devil glowered at Alon. “That’s not happening.”

“Suit yourself,” Alon said and spun about. “Tell Cantos if he wants to know about the raid, he can find me at—”

“Raid? What raid?” the lieutenant asked sharply.

Alon turned about and raised one eyebrow. “Oh, you’re interested now?”

“Just tell me,” the Devil snapped.

Alon smiled. “Tell the ganglord to come out if he wants to know when and where.” His face hardened. “And be quick about it. I don’t have all night.”

✵ ✵ ✵

The threat worked.

Ten minutes later, the entrance to the sewer opened fully, and out marched the Devil ganglord, the Grand Butcher himself: Cantos. He strode out, nose in the air, like some bloody king. The gang’s senior leaders, surrounding him like a pack of loyal dogs, completed the picture.

While I was scornful of the fanfare, I didn’t let the opportunity go begging. Under cover of the disturbance created by the ganglord’s arrival, I sneaked closer to the doors, managing to get within twenty yards.

Alon’s part was nearly done, and now it was almost time for my own. Concealing myself in the shadows, I returned my attention to the scene playing out in front of the gates while I waited to act.

Cantos was conferring with his lieutenant, and by the sounds of it, the Devil was getting chewed out.  It went on for a good few minutes, and with each bitten-off word from the ganglord, the lieutenant shrank even further.

Finally, Cantos spat an order, and his underling fled into the sewer. Swinging around to face Alon, the ganglord—and his entire assemblage—marched into the center of the street where the ‘watch officer’ stood waiting impatiently.

“I hear you have something to tell me,” Cantos said to Alon.

“I do,” Alon replied.

“Then get on—” Cantos began, then stopped as one of his subordinates whispered something in his ear. The ganglord’s gaze shot back to Alon. “You’re that boy, aren’t you? The one who refused to join?”

My heart thumped loudly in my chest. Goddammit, no! Alon had been recognized. I flexed my fingers, readying myself. If it came to a fight, I wouldn’t let my friend go down alone.

But despite my fear and Canto’s hard stare, Alon’s own face was devoid of panic. “That’s right,” he said, nodding agreeably in response to the ganglord. “I’m Alon.”

“You’re no watchman!” Cantos barked.

At the ganglord’s words, his retinue drew their blades and crowded Alon. All of the gate guards joined them, too, leaving the sewer entrance unguarded.

My gaze slid from the open gate to Alon. This was the perfect opportunity to sneak inside, but I couldn’t abandon my friend.

Not budging, I watched and waited.

“I am an officer of the Watch,” Alon said, his voice even, despite the blades pointed his way. “Whether you believe me or not.”

“Don’t lie to me!” Cantos hissed. “What game are you playing? You’re lucky you’re still alive. I could cut your—”

“I’m here to bargain,” Alon broke in. “I’ve information critical to your… organization.”

“I don’t bargain with rejects,” Cantos sneered. Never mind that it was Alon and Soren who’d rejected the gang, not the other way around.

“You’ll want to hear what I have to say,” Alon replied, unfazed.

A bark of laughter escaped the ganglord. “You think whatever you have is valuable enough that it will square things between us?”

“That and more.”

Cantos opened his mouth, then hesitatingly closed it again. Something about Alon’s manner had given him pause. For someone staring down over a dozen swords, Alon was too confident, and whatever else Cantos was, he was a shrewd judge of character. His instincts had to be screaming to him that something was off.

The ganglord’s head swiveled left and right, almost as if to assure himself there was no ambush lurking. Seeing nothing, he turned back to Alon. “What do you know?” he demanded tersely.

Alon leaned forward and spoke quietly, but not so softly that I couldn’t hear him from where I was. “I know, for instance, that you have a crate of Game-crafted items sitting in your hideout. I know, too, what the sworn intend on doing about that fact.”

Cantos tensed for a drawn-out moment. Then ever so slowly, he rubbed at the jagged scar running down the right side of his face. “Come inside, and let’s talk.”

Alon shook his head. “No, thank you. I will tell you what I know, but not in your hideout. The tavern down the street will do.” He grinned. “The one full of witnesses in case anything… untoward should happen.”

Cantos’ eyes narrowed. “You aren’t trying to trap me, are you, boy?”

“Bring all your guards if you must,” Alon said. Turning about, he strolled down the street as if without a care in the world and headed towards the tavern in question.

“I will,” Cantos called after him and waved his cavalcade forward.