CH943 · Rewrite
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Chapter 943: The Spread of Black Flame

“All clear?”

Elena watched Zooey come down the steps from the deck, wiping the blood from her face with the back of her wrist — not urgently, the way you’d wipe sweat.

“Clear,” Zooey said. “Took a little longer than I expected. But it’s done.”

Betty leaned against the rail, tilting her head. “What do we do next? Write His Majesty a report?”

“Leave that to Elena.” Zooey flicked a glance toward the horizon. “Summarizing isn’t my strength. Besides, His Majesty didn’t put much emphasis on this particular matter — only to maintain stability by whatever means necessary. You could write Appen as a man full of malice who refused to accept change. Which is also just the truth.”

“If he’d had no evil intentions,” Betty said, as if arriving at a conclusion she’d been working toward, “why would he choose a border town of the Kingdom of Wolfheart as his first stop? The location speaks for itself.”

“I’ll write it properly,” Elena said, with a brief, deliberate clearing of her throat. “Cause and effect, reasoning, analysis — everything laid out. Like a City Hall meeting record.”

“You just want His Majesty to compliment your writing so you can earn extra visits to the Dream World,” Zooey said flatly.

“Wha—what did you say?

“Oh.” Betty’s expression brightened with sudden interest. “I hadn’t thought of that. Elena, can you teach me how to write official reports?”

Elena coughed. “Let’s finish the work first.”

“Right.” Zooey let the sharpness drop from her voice. “Don’t include what I just said in your report.”

“Obviously.” Elena turned toward the far end of the deck and raised her hand. “You — come here.”

Three figures in dark robes approached. Two were supporting the third, an old man who moved with the slow deliberateness of someone accustomed to managing pain. He came to the witches and bowed.

“Lady Oracle. How may I serve you?”

“You followed me here willingly,” Elena said. “I assume you came prepared.”

The old man was Banach Lothar — founder of Black Money, the shadow merchant of the City of Glow, a name known in underground circles the way a deep-sea creature is known: by reputation and occasional catastrophe. The God’s Punishment Witches were beyond comparison in a direct fight, but intercepting Appen at sea without leaving any trail back to Graycastle required the kind of access only common people possessed. Banach had that access.

Regicide was another matter. Even vast wealth, it seemed, could not quite inoculate a man against the worship of bloodlines — Banach’s shoulders had not stopped trembling since they boarded, though he stood straight regardless. The ambition was there, visibly, in the line of his jaw.

“Yes.” His voice was steadier than his hands. “I am willing to serve.”

“At ease.” Elena set a hand on his shoulder briefly. “In the eyes of the deities, the names men give themselves are nothing. A king’s title is just a title. Now: which plan do you recommend?”

Banach composed himself. “Of the three, the first — disguise it as a shipwreck. Along this route, dozens of ships are lost every year: storms, groundings, rogue waves, shifting sandbars. There is a rainstorm forecast along the border sea lanes in two days. We need only sail the ship into open water and open the hull below the waterline. No one will know what happened.”

He paused. “The other two options — pirates, noble vengeance — aren’t unreasonable as misdirection, but false facts crack under sustained investigation. Even if the investigators find nothing, the interested parties can manufacture their own evidence.”

“And for the shipwreck,” Zooey said, “you can make everything disappear?”

“Yes, my Lady.” The certainty in his voice was precise and unhurried. “Even the sailors I brought with me will go down with the ship. They are Black Money’s silent warriors — trained for exactly this kind of removal. There is no path by which the information escapes.”

“Silent warriors,” Elena said, looking at the two men supporting him. “Are these two among them?”

“Yes. They cannot hear, nor speak. They operate on specific gestures alone — hence the name.” He glanced at them with something difficult to read. “Training one is difficult. The success rate is perhaps one in ten, even with subjects in good condition.”

Elena understood what good condition likely meant and what subjects implied and how a man built a private army of the deaf-mute. She didn’t comment on it. Even in the age of the Union, the strong had always found ways to use the weak — it was one of the facts she had stopped being surprised by, the way you stop being surprised by cold in winter.

“I brought fifty,” Banach said. “They answer only to me. They are more than sufficient.”

“Then proceed.” Elena met the eyes of Zooey and Betty in turn. “But there is one more task.”

Banach swallowed once, visibly. “If it is within my ability, I will spare nothing.”

This next order did not come from Roland. It came from Pasha.

“It’s simple. Black Money currently has dealings with the new King of Dawn — Horford Quinn. You will continue to present the appearance of supporting him. At the same time, you will insert as many informants as you can into his new regime and report on the Quinn family’s movements. Do you understand?”

Banach blinked. “But — isn’t he the lord that you placed on the throne?”

“Precaution,” Elena said. “Common people’s loyalties are short-lived. When the real test comes, who can say a puppet will hold?” A pause. “Besides, it isn’t reliable to entrust the stability of an entire kingdom to a single family. I want Black Money to be part of the structure.”

A man who had always wanted power should have been exhilarated at those words. Banach was not. He looked worried instead. “This is a long undertaking, and I can do it, but — as you know — my health—”

Elena reached behind her and produced two small bottles. She handed them to him without ceremony. “Take these. Drink one when your body begins to fail. Wait at least a month between doses. Six more bottles after these, and your body will meet the base criteria for modification.”

The anxiety in Banach’s eyes dissolved into something bright and shaking. He took the bottles carefully, tucked them into an inner pocket, then bowed low — deeper than the first time, a different kind of gratitude.

“I will not fail.”

“Work hard.” Elena’s voice was almost soft. “When it’s done, we’ll make you something that doesn’t age.”

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