The Broken Halo

The Voice had not been happy when Simon brought up his payment.

And that was not surprising.

From her point of view, Simon had completed the mission, but he had also killed the Fifth Needle and eight other Black Banner members, then taken everything they carried. She clearly believed that should be enough.

Simon did not.

Those demons had tried to kill him. Whatever he took from their corpses were spoils, not payment.

In the end, the Voice chose to pay him fifty thousand low-grade hell stones and did not budge on the amount. She had no intention of letting him have one over her after he had just made information the price of any future work... especially after he killed the Fifth Needle and the shelter guards.

The payment would also be delivered through another drop once the Old Bell Quarter was cleared.

Simon accepted without arguing further.

He did not need the money, but that was not the point.

A completed job had a price. If he allowed Black Banner to ignore that price once, the Voice would try it again later.

After their conversation ended, Simon returned the Murmur Bone to his spatial ring and focused on the Shadow Eye attached to the watcher beneath the broken eastern arch.

The demon did not leave immediately.

He remained in the Old Bell Quarter while the other agents searched for the Lesser Demon and checked the nearby streets. Only when the area became quiet again did he rise and walk away.

He changed clothes inside an abandoned foundry. The dirty coat and loose trousers disappeared, replaced by a clean worker’s outfit. He also rubbed ash across his face.

Then he began moving.

The route he took was deliberately inconvenient.

He crossed the same road twice, entered a night market through one road and left through another, then stopped at three different stalls without buying anything. Twice, he suddenly turned and looked behind him.

Simon watched everything through the ShadowEye.

Whenever the watcher entered a brightly lit area, Simon made the Eye slightly dormant. When he returned to darker streets, the black pupil opened again.

Nearly an hour later, the demon reached the eastern district and entered a long warehouse behind one of Velmora’s public weighing stations.

A faded broken-wheel symbol hung above the entrance. Labourers still worked inside despite the late hour, moving crates, checking weights, and shouting whenever something was placed in the wrong section.

The watcher blended in easily.

He carried a crate across the main floor, exchanged a few words with a supervisor, then entered a narrow office at the back.

The ShadowEye went with him.

Four demons were inside.

One sat beside the door. Another handled inventory. A broad demon with one missing ear sat behind a scarred desk, while the fourth stood near a trapdoor built into the floor.

The watcher removed the real spatial ring from his sleeve and placed it on the desk.

The one-eared demon examined the torn-banner imprint, read Simon’s report twice, then passed it to the demon beside the trapdoor. That demon rolled the paper, placed it inside a thin metal tube, and disappeared below the floor.

The watcher stayed only a few minutes before leaving.

Simon did not know whether the warehouse was one of the nests the vice-leader described or merely another point in the chain. He also did not know where the trapdoor led.

But he now knew the building’s location.

He knew the faces of the demons inside, the rear office, and that something important existed beneath the weighing floor.

That was enough for one night.

Simon left the ShadowEye attached to the watcher but made it dormant. When there was a disturbance or a heratic movement of the watcher’s shadow, he would know. There was no reason to keep draining mental energy while the demon returned to the streets.

After changing his face twice, Simon headed toward the abandoned pottery warehouse.

He used the one-eyed old merchant’s appearance before entering.

The Lesser Demon was still sitting on the old sacks, his back against the wall and his broken finger wrapped in cloth torn from his shirt.

The moment Simon stepped inside, the courier jerked upright.

"You."

His voice came out weak.

Simon closed the door.

"Relax. I didn’t come to kill you."

The Lesser Demon stared at him.

"That’s easy for you to say."

Simon almost smiled.

At least fear had not completely removed the demon’s common sense.

He brought out a bottle of healing liquid, a tin of bone healing paste, and a pouch containing fifty low-grade hell stones. All of these items were gotten from the spatial rings of the demons he killed. He placed them on a broken table.

The courier looked at the items, then back at Simon.

"You saw what they did?"

"I saw enough."

"They were going to kill me."

"I know."

The Lesser Demon swallowed, his gaze becoming more fearful. His uninjured hand tightened around his knee.

"Was it you who moved me?"

Simon did not answer.

He crouched, removed the bloodied cloth from the broken finger, and examined it. The injury was painful but simple. The eastern agents had broken it to frighten him, not permanently cripple him.

Simon straightened the finger.

The courier cried out and nearly pulled away, but one look from Simon made him remain still.

The courier lowered his eyes to the medicine with gritted teeth.

"Why did you save me? Why are you helping me?"

"Because you followed my instructions."

Simon stood.

"And because I may have work for you again."

The Lesser Demon’s expression immediately became complicated. He was grateful to be alive, but he was also beginning to realise that surviving might have pulled him into something worse.

"I don’t want trouble," he muttered.

"You took twenty stones to walk into a watched quarter. You’re already in trouble."

The courier had no answer.

Simon pointed at the medicine.

"Use the paste around the joint, then drink half the bottle. Keep the rest for tomorrow."

The Lesser Demon glanced at the medicine and nodded.

Simon continued speaking.

"You can’t go home. The demons who questioned you know your face. Leave when it’s morning and find a place far away from here."

The demon clenched his good fist and spoke with visible fear in his tone.

"And if they find me again?"

"Then don’t let them."

The courier gave him an incredulous look.

Simon shrugged.

"You’re alive. Keep it that way."

The answer was simple, but the Lesser Demon became quiet.

Simon had not saved him out of kindness.

The demon was poor, frightened, and easy to control. He had also followed instructions and survived his first encounter with Black Banner’s agents.

That made him more useful than a random stranger.

If he remained useful, Simon would use him again.

If he became a problem, Simon would kill him.

If he died, then so be it. He had only spent less than a hundred low grade hell stones on him.

Simon turned toward the door.

"Wait," the courier said quickly.

Simon looked back.

"What should I call you?"

"You don’t need a name."

He left before the Lesser Demon could ask anything else.

Outside, the streets remained busy despite the late hour. Black Horn was searching, Black Banner was hiding their trails, and Korran already knew Blackmoon had disappeared.

Simon changed his face again and began walking toward Pipeline Inn.

The dead drop was finished.

He had a new location to investigate, a living courier he could use later, and a payment waiting to be collected.

More importantly, Blackmoon had been missing for long enough.

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