Getting even two male members of the family together in one place was a rare occurrence for Max. Mastfa, Muwah and Odeh were all occupied with their own ventures and struggled to find time to come back home and relax. Luckily for Adrian, Muwah was returning to the manor the day after his visit for a short spell at home.

Max had to take his opportunity while it was present. As soon as one of the servants announced his arrival, Max organized some tea and posted up in Muwah’s favourite room in the house. It didn’t take long for Muwah to come waltzing through the door with his arms outstretched.

“Maxwell! It’s been ages!”

Max stood up and accepted his brotherly hug before holding out his hand and offering him a seat at the table. It had been a month and a half since the two sat together, with Muwah engaging in several important business trips on behalf of their father. To think that the proliferation of the telegram network was reducing the need for travel, it would have been even more intense otherwise.

“How’s the academy treating you? No more shootouts, I hope.”

Muwah approached the tragedy caused by the Scuncath with his usual optimism. It was almost impossible to put him into a bad mood. He saw himself as an important pillar of strength for the family and the people who worked for them. Whether they all appreciated that sunny demeanour was a mystery.

“The academy has been calm for the past term. Everyone is keeping their heads down and focusing on their electives.”

Muwah nodded, “What did you pick again?”

Max tried not to let his discomfort show, “History, magic and mathematics.”

“Those are good choices. You’re covering a diverse range of subjects there. It’s important to find the ‘art’ in what you choose to do. I was very invested in the stories I read in the history books when I was your age.”

“Diversity is a polite way of saying indiscriminate. What good are those three subjects going to do together?”

“One of my teachers left his old position to teach magic history at a university. People don’t understand how much those different skills can cross over with each other. And you can never go wrong with mathematics, or physics, or any sciences – they’re in high demand.”

“Still...”

“You don’t need to have your future planned out here and now. I know that father has been putting a lot of pressure on your shoulders recently, but you’re free to make that decision for yourself whenever you find the answer.”

It was true that Max enjoyed a wealth of time, money and influence. He could easily choose to focus on any one thing and succeed in it by using his family name. Business, politics, or even spending his days mooching from the family coffer as a socialite. None of those outcomes felt right.

Claude was always certain that he wanted to become a policeman like his father. Seeing Samantha dedicate herself so steadfastly to becoming a doctor was the nadir of his doubt. She had no idea what possibilities awaited her when she first came to the academy, and now she had a firm goal in mind that would earn her a different type of respect, one which was earned through hard times and hard work.

What did he have to be proud of? Where would he be standing when the time came for him to leave the academy and blaze his own trail? Taking a bunch of his father’s money and investing it into a guaranteed business plan wasn’t going to fulfil him. There were hundreds of rich kids who were going to do the same. Going from turning over a barn filled with animal crap to being a doctor? Now that was something special.

“Keep in mind that you still have a lot of time to figure it out. Time feels so much slower when you’re a child. Nowadays I wake up and wonder where the time has gone.”

Muwah laughed boisterously.

“You’ve been busy,” Max observed.

“Very much so.”

“What have you been working on?”

Muwah almost fell out of his chair at the mere implication of his younger brother being interested in what he was doing. It was like every single one of his wildest dreams coming true all at once. He was so overwhelmed with joy at the prospect that the thought of Maxwell having ulterior motives for inquiring simply never occurred to him.

“You want to know what I’m working on?”

Max shrugged, “I was hoping to make conversation. I have nought to do at the moment. Claude is presently occupied turning his bedroom into a monument to his overactive imagination.”

Muwah smiled, his perfectly white teeth shining between the thick whiskers of his moustache and beard.

“I’d be happy to talk about it. Father has been talking my ears off about how worried he is about you.”

Max didn’t need Muwah to tell him that. It was obvious from his expressions and the words he used that their Father was always concerned about what Max was choosing to do with his life. The issue was that Max didn’t have any firm ground from which to make a decision. He originally hoped that the academy would spur him into action or allow him to find a calling he truly cared about.

“This isn’t a confirmation of my interests, just so we’re clear.”

Muwah laughed; “Okay, okay. I’ll save you from that indignity and keep it between us. Recently I’ve been working with Cedric Roderro on a big plan he has for Church Walk in the city. He wants to buy up all of the property there, knock the old houses down, and redevelop the entire district.”

“That sounds like a significant task. Did he propose this to you directly?”

“Yes. I thought it sounded like a brilliant idea! Cedric said that the council would be glad to see the back of Church Walk as the poorest and most crime-ridden district in the city. He was right. They threw their support behind the endeavour without delay.”

Max listened closely for clues. That sounded like information that Adrian and Maria could use to further their investigation.

“I see. Will the project be going ahead without any issues then?”

Muwah's usual optimism faltered, “Not exactly. Getting approval from the council is one matter, but actually securing the property from the residents is another. They are willing to approve the plan but they cannot offer us any assistance in obtaining the land we need. Unfortunately, some of the landowners are connected with the local gang, and they’ve been making shows of strength to deter anyone from selling to us.”

“And that pushes the profit margin further and further out of the ideal.”

“Correct. We’ve already dedicated millions of marks to this scheme, and Cedric has also asked for additional investment from new partners to see it through. He has temporarily ceased completing purchases until he can be certain that we get everyone on our side.”

“I hope that doesn’t put you at risk.”

Muwah laughed again, “Don’t worry about me. I’m not exactly fighting on the frontlines to get this deal done like Cedric is. I’m simply lending him some of my capital as an investment. There are people who have leveraged much more than I have.”

“I wouldn’t have come up with an idea like that. It sounds extremely risky.”

“Hm. Cedric is a very interesting man. He has the business acumen to make it happen, but he can rush headlong into controversial subjects without giving it a second thought. Someone else is handling the delicate negotiations. Cedric is dedicated to making this his greatest work, a sight to cement his legacy with.”

“His legacy...”

“Between you and me, he’s somewhat desperate to step out of the shadow of his brother. Even though Cathdra never did much with his money, and even though he’s now enjoying a long stint in jail, he’s still considered the leader of the family. That really makes him angry. He’ll complain about it to anyone willing to lend him an ear.”

That sounded like a motivating reason for Cedric to oust Adrian from his position. It was a multi-pronged strategy based on what Adrian had said previously. He was hoping that the stress of running the empire and the overlapping risks that were threatening his life would be enough to make him hand it over without the drama. Failing that, he would make an offer to purchase his legal share of those businesses at a steep discount.

Adrian already declared his intention to resist a lowball offer, as he was right to do so. The worst possible course of action would be to reward Cedric’s criminal behaviour by giving him what he wanted. The high-profile nature of any direct action against him meant that his hands were tied. Adrian being harmed even by a third party would arouse detailed scrutiny of how it happened.

Funnily enough – that strategy would have been more effective if not for Cathdra and Claude.

“You say he wants to build his own legacy, but that all depends on how the people in the city feel about his ambition. A legacy is afforded by others. It cannot be built through self-aggrandization alone.”

Muwah smiled, “Certainly not these days. Historians are much more sceptical of what they read than they used to be, as are the journalists who publish in the newspapers. I’ve run into a handful of them who wanted to know my thoughts. I think it was too boring for them. I never saw it in print.”

“You’re not controversial enough,” Max joked.

“Maybe. If they were talking to Odeh, then they’d have something to put on the front page...”

Max finished the last of his tea and pushed the empty cup away from the edge of the table. Muwah’s gaze turned to the front garden, which he could see through the window behind Max’s head. Unlike Odeh, Muwah was happiest when he could find a moment to step back from the mayhem and reset his equilibrium.

“I suppose that the big project will take some time to come to fruition then.”

“Indeed, it will. Thankfully Roderro didn’t promise the world to his investors from the outset, so they’ve been understanding about the delays. Organized resistance from the locals, preservationist societies, and now there’s been a spate of gang killings in the area that have attracted police attention.”

Such delays were part and parcel of a major redevelopment project. Similar schemes in other heavily industrialized cities caused issues, though the complaints tended to go away once the people living there got to see the positive impact the redevelopment made on the area.

What Muwah didn’t know was the extent to which Cedric wanted to put his own stamp on Church Walk. This wasn’t about improving the conditions for the workers or expanding local infrastructure, he was hoping to wipe the slate clean and start from scratch. This was going to be his magnum opus. It was going to be his signature carved deep into the flesh of the city - so deep that it could never be removed.

Maxwell was already thinking of how to explain what he’d discovered to Adrian and Maria.

---

Marco Fisichella had only just cleaned up the mess caused to his sitting room two days ago. He purchased a new door, new windows, and some new furniture to replace what was damaged by the roving madman who decided to pay him an untimely visit. Marco had thoughts about the situation, but they were nothing more than the frustrated gripes of a man out of his depth.

He knew that he didn’t know.

He didn’t know who the attacker was, he didn’t know why he killed several washrags in a blind rage, he didn’t know where he got such explosive magical power, and he didn’t know why that attacker withstood two magazines of flesh-rending bullets before finally going down.

Marco had a simple rule. Never get involved in a matter because you were collateral damage. There was no point chasing answers when there was nothing satisfactory on the other side of them. The person responsible was dead and his house was already fixed up. Nobody was going to pay him for sticking his nose into it.

Whilst in the midst of rearranging his new furniture, a set of heavy knocks rang out at his door. Marco was getting all too familiar with the routine by this point. The police had been drilling him for answers for two days straight. It was a miracle that he managed to clean the mess up and keep them away from his private affairs.

“Just a second!”

Marco double-checked his gun, before walking to the door and pulling it open.

Robert Van Gervan was waiting for him on the other side.

“Mister Gervan, this is a rarity.”

“Marco. I’d like to speak with you.”

Marco stepped aside and shut the door to keep prying eyes and ears away from the conversation.

“Am I not mistaken in believing this is about the incident from the other day?”

Robert sat at the table and removed his hat out of politeness, “Aye. It is.”

“If you are hoping for direct answers about what happened and why, I’m afraid that I don’t have them. What I saw was one of your friends being stabbed, and then that same killer approaching my door to do the same to us.”

Marco took a seat opposite Robert and interlinked his fingers.

“It’s madness,” Robert complained, “Not only have a bunch of good lads gotten killed for nothing but now the police are sniffing around Church Walk.”

Marco shrugged, “They are trying to find answers themselves.”

“The police have never cared about what happens to folks in Church Walk, or the other working-class areas of this city. That’s why gangs like ours stick around. If they aren’t going to protect us, then we just have to do it ourselves.”

It helped that being in the gang allowed the members to get a cut of their ill-gotten gains, but Marco refrained from entering a rhetorical duel with a pig-headed buffoon like Robert. There was a small golden nugget of truth in his statement. It was the core of the issue.

“It’s a joke,” he continued, “These streets have never been safe, but at least folks were wise enough not to cause trouble when the whites were out and about. Now I’ve got a dozen people pounding on my door and asking me to find their missing relatives.”

Though in this case, they were not ‘missing.’ The families wanted their bodies back as soon as possible so that funerals could be organized. The level of distrust against the police was so great that holding onto a body for an autopsy was too much for their taste.

“Are you of the belief that it was an isolated incident?”

“I bloody well hope it was. I can’t be having this drama playing out on the regular!”

This type of outraged, flustered, red-face furore was nothing new for Robert. His impatience and constant desire for respect were well-known by the community. Everyone had to defer to him on all matters he deemed within his gang’s jurisdiction. Marco hated his guts. He was a fat blowhard who was too behind the times to see that his own position was eroding from under his feet.

“If it isn’t, then your only solace would be the police finding the people responsible for the attack. He did not look like a gang member to me.”

“Even if he wasn’t, I’m not going to sit still and let it happen again. You’re underestimating us again, Marco. I have ways of getting what I need to know.”

“Paying off those idiot information brokers? I wouldn’t trust a word they say. Most of them aren’t worth the air they breathe. There are one or two good ones – but they don’t advertise themselves to people not in the know.”

“I was hoping to ask you about what happened.”

Marco scowled, “Only if you pay me for it, and I wouldn’t suggest doing that – I have nothing more to offer you than what I saw that day.”

Robert was not going to waste his breath pressing him on the truthfulness of that statement. Robert was a hard-headed pig, but he wasn’t the head of the gang that ran the district because he ran into losing battles which he knew he couldn’t win. Marco would turn him into a fine paste if he gave him a reason to.

But Marco was a pro. He was always working some type of angle or trying to score a job, and he never burned bridges unless he absolutely had to. Robert tried to squeeze him for information because Marco wouldn’t touch him for asking.

“Some red-eyed bitch was standing there on the steps at the morgue, said we’d all get banged up if we tried to get into the morgue and get them back. She even flashed her bloody gun at me!”

Marco looked at Gervan with a stone-cold glare.

“How old was she? Tall, short?”

He hesitated. This was an unusually harsh reaction from Marco.

“She was in her thirties. Dark hair. Face like thunder.”

“Mister Gervan – that was not a simple police officer. That was a WISA agent, and of all the WISA agents that you can meet, you picked a fight with the worst possible one.”

“WISA are a bunch of toothless paper pushers,” Robert blustered.

“That’s what they want people like us to think. In reality, they’re a group of experienced killers with unconditional support from the police and the courts. You’re lucky that you didn’t try to take matters into your own hands, or you’d be missing under mysterious circumstances within the week.”

“Bullshit.”

“Not bullshit,” Marco spat, “Do you have a death wish? You stupid man! Listen to me when I say this. Do not play games with that woman again! I won’t listen to your grieving relatives when they find your water-logged corpse in the harbour!”

Marco was so angry that his accent was starting to come through.

Robert tried to ease the tension with a more diplomatic approach. He held out one of his palms and took a less aggressive tone; “You act like you know her.”

Marco shook his head, “I don’t know her, not personally – but I believe she’s the same woman of whom I’ve heard many troubling rumours. People in my line of work have stories, stories that aren’t to be shared in weak-stomached company. She doesn’t make threats, she makes promises. If you so much as touched that door, you’d be dead right now.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Robert scoffed, “As much as those bastard pigs love to abuse us, they wouldn’t so easily get away with killing a man in broad daylight.”

“WISA agents have near complete immunity to do as they like. If, and that is a big if, it was brought to a courtroom, the case would be dismissed so long as they proved to the judge that they had reason to act as they did.”

“How do you know that?”

“I’ve dealt with them before – so I made sure to do my research. It was made easier to find those cases when the legal archives were opened to the public a few years ago.”

Marco had a fairly intimate knowledge of the legal system. It was one of his hobbies. Reading through pages and pages of public court records enthralled him, and he could whittle away hours picking apart different cases and following them through each motion.

The WISA cases were revealing. A huge amount of the documentation was classified, and they were summarily dismissed once the defence made a low standard showing that the actions of the agent were taken under good faith.

“But isn’t that suspicious? WISA is trying to keep us from seeing the bodies.”

“Bodies? There’s nothing unusual about what happened to your men, Robert. I saw it with my own two eyes. What is unusual is the man who killed them. If WISA has taken over the morgue and are trying to keep people away, then it’s because of him. They’ll be sent back here in due time.”

Robert chewed on Marco’s perspective. The chair groaned under the weight of his body as he shuffled back and straightened himself out. Now that he had calmed down, he could see what Marco meant. WISA would not be getting involved if not for unusual circumstances.

“What if we broke in and took them?”

“Robert – I say this with all due respect, but that is an extremely stupid idea. There is no reason to risk your life and limb to avoid a potentially short wait.”

“It could be a lot longer. I’ve got wives and children out there who expect me to lead the charge, protect the community and do right by them. They’re not going to be happy if you turn out to be wrong.”

“Then I sincerely hope you are ready to deal with the consequences. WISA being here is a warning sign. If not them, forces greater than us will be scheming behind the curtain.”

Marco hoped that his sober assessment of the situation would put across to Robert how serious it was. Robert had come to him a few times before for advice, and to field contracts that involved killing his main rivals. Marco happily took them on – but Robert never accepted advice from anyone even after he asked for it.

Robert Van Gervan didn’t like being told no. It was his least favourite word in the Walserian dictionary. His working-class background was legitimate, but he was also a profoundly entitled man who believed his position within the Church Street gang conferred a level of untouchability that could even deflect physical harm.

That gambit was not going to work here. There was no prestige or infamy to earn by taking this battle, and it was not a battle that Robert and his gang members could hope to win. All hell would break loose if they succeeded in breaking into the morgue.

“I’ll keep what you’ve said in mind, Marco. Thank you for your time.”

Robert redonned his hat and walked to the door, letting himself out and descending the steps onto the sidewalk. Marco was quick to follow and watch him on the way out.

“If you do it, you don’t come back to my house for three months. I say three months. Don’t come back!” he yelled.

Robert just waved him away, only half-listening to his demands.

“Gangsters,” Marco said to himself, “Always getting themselves killed.”

He slammed the door shut and went back to his chores.