Thirty-six posts in total.
Kariel looked at the night city below, calmly rubbing the blades of the daggers pressed against his wrists and palms.
This barely audible sound did not escape Ghost's ears. He lowered his head, glanced at Kariel's hands hidden under his cloak, and nodded thoughtfully.
An icy wind swept across the roof of the tall building. This night seemed colder than usual.
Below, pointed buildings loomed ominously. Nearby stood a seemingly abandoned residential building; it was in disrepair, but Kariel could tell from the few surviving details about its former splendor.
The surviving window shards reflected the neon lights, creating unpleasant, jagged glares. Several dark silhouettes flashed behind them.
The Old City was just like that – darker than the new one, without the ubiquitous advertising signs of factories. In fact, almost half of the Old City didn't even have electricity.
"Are we waiting, Kariel?" Ghost asked quietly, with a hiss.
Kariel remained silent, breathing evenly. Only his fingers slid faster along the blades.
Ghost looked at him with concern. After the conversation about the "countdown," Kariel had become somewhat strange.
He didn't know if this change was for the better, but instinctively he didn't like it.
"...No, we're not waiting, Ghost," Kariel finally said. "But the plan will have to change."
Ghost nodded silently, ready to listen.
"Along the border between the Old and New districts, these scum from the 'Glorious Warlords' have set up thirty-six posts. They've even installed heavy machine guns, divided into patrol groups, and set up roadblocks on the road..."
Kariel grinned wryly:
"Such a lavish welcome, I'm simply flattered. Do you know what this means, Ghost?"
"I don't know," Ghost replied. "But what should I do, Kariel?"
His words made Kariel turn around. The expression on the phantom assassin's face was surprisingly complex.
"It means," he said slowly, "that the people from the Scryvok house will arrive tonight."
"There is only one road connecting the new district of Quintus with the Old. The 'Glorious Warlords' cannot block it for long. Other gangs, also backed by aristocrats, need it for their business..."
"So, it will happen today, Ghost."
"What should I do?" Ghost asked again. "I'm ready, Kariel."
"No, don't ask me what to do, Ghost."
Kariel shook his head.
"Everyone has their own opinion, their own thoughts. You shouldn't always rely on my plan. This is just a job, we are partners... we are equals."
Ghost looked at him in confusion.
"Therefore, today I want you to act on your own discretion."
Kariel smiled slightly.
"Thirty-six posts – all yours. The method doesn't matter, Ghost, I'll muffle the noise. And as for the people from the Scryvok house... I'll handle them."
He chuckled softly. His laughter dissolved into the cold night wind of Nostramo, like fragments of phrases or the growl of a monster.
Then, with a flash of blue light in his eyes, he stepped off the roof and disappeared into the night darkness before Ghost's eyes.
...
Act alone.
The second time.
Act on your own discretion.
The first time.
Ghost blinked, his heart beating faster. He immediately noticed this and, imitating Kariel, took several deep breaths.
Cold, foul air filled his lungs, and the exhaled steam no longer had a smell and dissipated into the night like a warm cloud.
Ghost didn't understand what it meant yet, but it seemed amusing to him and, more importantly, effective.
But thirty-six posts.
How should I do this?
Ghost sat down and stroked the stone gargoyle's head. He hadn't given it a name. Not because he didn't like its corrosion-eaten ugliness, but because of its imperfection.
It was missing one horn.
For some reason, Ghost didn't want to give it a name at all. He didn't want to replace its image in his mind with some label.
So he sat there, slowly stroking the rough stone, until the bronze head of the gargoyle warmed from the heat of his palm. Only then did Ghost speak, bidding it farewell.
"Goodbye, Mr. One-Horned Gargoyle."
Ghost bowed politely and whispered in its ear:
"I'm going to clear thirty-six posts. Will you wish me luck?"
The gargoyle did not answer.
It continued to look down menacingly, its fangs protruding from beneath its bronze lips, and its claws scraping the massive stone pedestal. It did not answer, but Ghost pretended to listen attentively.
A moment later, he blinked and suddenly smiled.
Ghost patted the gargoyle affectionately on the head, straightened up, and, repeating Kariel's movement, stepped down.
His ragged clothes fluttered in the wind. Icy drops of condensation hit his face, but he didn't even blink.
Soon he landed. More precisely, on the roof of some building. And then he ran. This time his steps were silent, and some new, fluid strength bloomed in his body.
Jump – climb – stop and observe. After three minutes of silent running, Ghost reached the top of one of the spires.
Earlier, he and Kariel had already silently bypassed all the posts, and Ghost had silently memorized their locations and everything that might be useful.
Kariel had said: "Be careful."
Quiet voices drifted up from below, two people talking. Ghost listened patiently, hoping to learn something useful, but in vain.
He was completely uninterested in how to please men and women differently. It didn't help him in his task at all.
And he continued his movement.
Ghost acted with extreme caution. His fingernails did not catch on the cracks between the bricks, but only slightly dug into them. Before each descent, he checked several times to see if the support point would bear his weight.
He was lucky – the spire was built conscientiously.
Soon he silently descended to one of the tower windows. The window was open, a long black barrel protruded from it, and smoke curled from within.
"...As I said, Bangor, you're a complete novice at this."
A woman's hoarse voice sounded as if she were scolding an inept student.
"There are brothels on every corner in Quintus. If you don't want to pay, you can just find someone in the lower city, relieve your tension, and then sell them to the butcher shop and still make money. What the hell did you latch onto this slum woman for? She's as skinny as a skeleton!"
"She... she's different, Nols, different."
Bangor replied, stuttering.
"I think she's special. Honestly, she has very beautiful eyes."
"Damn it, everyone has black eyes! What did you see there? Don't play the fool, Bangor. By the way, didn't you bring her something the other day?"
"..."
"Answer, Bangor!"
"Yes, I brought her a smoked ham..."
"Whose make?"
"Gertrudis."
"Damn it, you're an idiot! Bringing smoked goods from Gertrudis to some commoner from the slums... Other gangs will laugh at us. That's it, I can't take it anymore. When we finish here, I'll take you to that woman."
"No, no, don't!" Nols, don't you dare..."
"...Don't dare what? You're not the snot-nosed kid you used to be! You're one of the 'Glorious Warlords' now, and I'm telling you, Bangor, you have no choice!"
Hearing this, Ghost frowned.
He didn't fully understand what they were talking about, but he caught an unbearable disdain in the voice of the woman named Nols.
She didn't consider workers and commoners from the slums as people.
Ghost didn't like that.
He didn't like it at all.
Ghost released his left hand, and his body spun freely under the force of gravity. The sharp and hard nails of his right hand left deep grooves in the brickwork of the spire, which, as he rotated, turned into a deep circle.
Then he jumped and burst into the room through the window. He didn't intend to hide his appearance, but he still overestimated their reaction. Or, rather, underestimated his own capabilities.
In the very first second, upon entering the room, Ghost grabbed Nols by the head with his long right hand, gave a light tug, and blood spurted.
And the man named Bangor...
Before Ghost's eyes, the expression on his face had time to change. Anxiety and embarrassment gave way to deep horror. His mouth opened and closed, he seemed to still be trying to dissuade Nols from her plan.
"Goodbye, Bangor."
Ghost nodded at him.
"Kariel said that some of you weren't born villains, but joined the gang out of desperation. But after that, everything changes, and we can't forgive you on behalf of the dead."
Ghost swung his left hand, ending Bangor's life.
He knew many ways to kill, but he chose the quickest and almost painless sleep for Bangor.
Thirty-five left.
Dropping Nols' head, Ghost wiped the blood on his clothes and walked to the window. He looked at the black weapon with the long barrel, reached out his hand, and with his nails, cut off the end of the barrel.
He flipped over, sat on the windowsill, and began to alternately sharpen the end of the barrel with the index and middle fingers of his right hand. After half a minute, the heavy barrel turned into a sharp black awl.
Ghost took it in his hand and, imitating Kariel, swung it. A sharp whistle sounded. The length wasn't quite right – Kariel's blades, pressed against his wrist and palm, left a long edge.
But this was enough.
Ghost smiled with satisfaction, jumped down, and disappeared into the night darkness.
The night was still long, and thirty-five more posts awaited him.
***
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