The plot of the painting was strange: a man with a long sword in his hand stood in the center, and beneath his feet was a long staircase made of a pile of bones. He looked at the black sky as if contemplating something.
Looking at the painting, the man, with his hands clasped behind his back, nodded approvingly.
He was dressed simply, in a long robe, but by no means modestly. The edges of the dark purple robe were adorned with exquisite embroidery, and the material was striking in its quality.
Light, perfectly fitting, incredibly comfortable.
On Nostramo, such clothing spoke volumes.
He had a long face, with features arranged aristocratically. Deep-set eyes, two black tattoos running from his eyebrows to his cheekbones. His mustache was perfectly trimmed. All this gave him a simultaneously imperious and noble appearance.
Mantas Scryvok. That was his name.
As for his status...
"My Count."
A strange hissing voice, like the grinding of teeth, came from a dark corner of the room.
"The 'Knocking Teeth' sent an envoy. He wishes to see you."
"Me?"
Mantas Scryvok smirked.
"What is it? Did they just remember that their slave in the Underhive was killed under unclear circumstances?"
"The envoy of the 'Knocking Teeth' did not mention that, my Count."
"Is that so?"
Mantas Scryvok turned and nodded to someone in the darkness.
"Well, escort the man from the 'Knocking Teeth' to the reception room."
"As you command, my Count."
Ten minutes later, Mantas Scryvok entered his reception room.
It was so luxurious that it seemed almost absurd, but such was the House of Scryvok. Their reception room was very different from traditional meeting places.
In the corner of the hall, a woman in black, with a terrifying face, awaited him.
He quickly approached, and the woman immediately stood up, bowing respectfully.
"It is a great honor for me to see you, venerable Painted Count, Lord Mantas Scryvok. The 'Knocking Teeth' send you their most sincere greetings."
"Let's skip the pleasantries, Majina."
The Painted Count smiled slightly and gestured for her to approach the long table in the center of the hall. He sat at the head, and Majina took the second seat.
"So?" Mantas Scryvok began softly. "For what purpose did the 'Knocking Teeth' send you?"
"This cannot yet be called a purpose, venerable Count."
The woman, who had no lips and whose eyelids were nailed shut so they wouldn't close, replied monotonously, "We did not come to make a deal, sir. We are not going to interfere in Quintus' affairs. Everyone knows that it is already in the hands of the House of Scryvok."
"Oh, please, don't say that. There are still forces of the four families in Quintus that we have not driven out."
Mantas Scryvok smiled slightly.
"So... when are you going to leave Quintus?"
Majina was silent for a moment. Her eyeballs, unlike the eyes of other people when thinking, did not move but remained still and eerie.
After some time, she slowly said, "We can officially announce our departure from Quintus tomorrow."
"Hmm... I'm listening, continue, Majina."
"But we have one request for you, Lord Count."
Mantas Scryvok's expression became interested.
"The 'Knocking Teeth' are willing not to investigate the death of that slave. We will not send anyone to Quintus. But in return, we hope you will give us a small discount on psychotropic substances."
"A discount?"
"Yes, Lord Count."
"So, the 'Knocking Teeth' are willing to give up all of Quintus and their reputation – for a small discount?"
"The size of the discount is up to you," Majina replied lifelessly. "We trust your word."
The Painted Count burst out laughing.
"Of course, of course, my dear Majina."
He winked affectionately at the woman.
"Thirty percent, how about that? Of course, I'll add a small gift – for example, I'll find the killer of your slave."
"We don't care, Lord Count."
"Nothing, it's customary in business to respond to a favor with a favor. You are willing to make concessions, and I cannot be too stingy. Agreed, Majina. You can go. And I'm sorry I didn't offer you tea."
Mantas Scryvok smiled, baring his teeth.
...Do you mind?
"I don't drink tea, Lord Count," the woman said.
She stood up, bowed again, and left the reception room. Mantas Scryvok watched her go, his smile widening.
"They are afraid."
The Painted Count said softly, "They are afraid that if they meddle in Quintus at such a moment, I will cut off their supply of psychotropic substances, so they simply decided to forget about the death of that slave."
"What a pity. Noble blood, yet wallowing in carnal pleasures and chemistry. What do you think, Shadow?"
A strange hissing voice, like the grinding of teeth, came from the dark corner of the hall, where the light of the burning candles did not reach.
"I completely agree with you, my lord."
Mantas Scryvok smirked.
"Three offspring, a whole gang, in one night... What terrifying efficiency."
"And we still don't even know who did it."
"The criminal hung the bodies of my son and eldest daughter at the shelter of our slaves, let them bleed out, left them swinging in the wind... and we don't even know who the killer is."
His smile widened and widened until it reached its limit, then disappeared.
Only a chilling calm remained.
"This is simply unbearable," Mantas Scryvok said grimly.
"Jando was arrogant and worthless, but in some things he showed persistence, like a hound. Leina was foolish, empty, but had decent military skills. And my eldest daughter..."
He took a deep breath, and his voice suddenly became soft.
"My eldest daughter, Irene... She was perfect. She was supposed to kill her brothers and sisters, inherit the Black Mark, and lead the family forward when I got old. But she's dead, Shadow. My eldest daughter is dead."
"My condolences."
"No, I'm not grieving, I'm just sorry," said Mantas Scryvok. "And I'm furious. But not because of their death, but because..."
...at the very moment when the House of Scryvok spent sixty years preparing, at the very moment when we can finally become the first family on Nostramo, fully controlling the hive...
Mantas Scryvok's hands clenched into fists, his cheek twitched, but his voice remained soft.
...someone dared to challenge us.
"What do you command me to do, my lord?"
"Search," Mantas Scryvok replied indifferently. "Search at any cost. The Great Purge will begin soon, so I will simply start it earlier. Tomorrow, send people with an announcement, and immediately after the announcement, begin the Great Purge."
"Turn everything upside down, but find the killer. I want to interrogate him personally, I want him to personally say at the aristocrats' council who was behind this!"
"As you command, my lord."
In the luxurious hall, a shadow disappeared silently.
...
A piercing cold wind. Two shadows swept across the dark sky. They moved in the darkness like ghosts and soon stopped on the head of a stone gargoyle.
Kariel looked down. His face was calm, but his eyes burned with a cold blue fire. The Ghost stood behind him, his lips pressed together, and remained silent.
"Look," Kariel suddenly said and raised his hand.
Following his instructions, the Ghost looked down. Among the jumble of towers, a wide square was deliberately left clear. Compared to other parts of the Underhive, it was much cleaner, obviously cleaned every day.
Many bandits patrolled around the square, which was unusual.
"There it is," Kariel said quietly. "Look, Ghost. They've already started setting up patrols and occupying the houses around."
Hearing this, the Ghost frowned and looked around carefully. Thanks to his excellent eyesight and ability to see in the dark, he quickly realized that Kariel was right.
All the houses around the square were occupied by gangs. Shadows of people flickered in the windows. The Ghost could make them out from a great distance, and he had no doubt that they were not peaceful citizens.
Peaceful citizens did not wear tattoos or strange outfits. Only gangs used such signs to distinguish their own and show their affiliation.
After all, peaceful citizens were lucky if they had any clothes at all; there was no room for pickiness.
"What should we do, Kariel?" the Ghost asked as usual.
Kariel turned and looked at him, but did not answer immediately. He changed the subject: "How was your improvisation last time?"
"I think it went well?"
"Answer confidently, Ghost."
"I think it went very well, Kariel."
"Excellent. Then this time, the same, Ghost."
Kariel smiled slightly.
"First, we wait."
"Hmm... is patience an important quality?" the Ghost asked uncertainly.
"Yes, patience is an important quality."
In the cold wind, Kariel's quiet laughter gradually faded. Below them, the unsuspecting bandits bustled.
No one knew what would happen tomorrow.
Yes, no one knew.
***
Read the story months before public release — early chapters are on my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/Granulan